Dickens's Christmas Books - complete online versions

The Christmas Carol, The Chimes, Cricket On the Hearth, Battle Of Life
& The Haunted Man & the Ghosts's Bargain with Illustrations.

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AND THE GHOST'S BARGAIN.                         345
the wife of my dear friend, on equal terms—for he had some inheritance, we none—pictures of our sobered age and mellowed happiness, and of the golden links, extending back so far, that should bind us, and our children, in a radiant garland," said the Phantom.
" Pictures," said the haunted man, " that were delusions. Why is it my doom to remember them too well! "
" Delusions," echoed the Phantom in its changeless voice, and glaring on him with its changeless eyes. "For my friend (in whose breast my confidence was locked as in my own), passing between me and the centre of the system of my hopes and struggles, won her to himself, and shattered my frail universe. My sister, doubly dear, doubly devoted, doubly cheerful in my home, lived on to see me famous, and my old ambition so rewarded when its spring was broken, and then------"
" Then died," he interposed. " Died, gentle as ever; happy; and with no concern but for her brother. Peace !"
The Phantom watched him silently.
" Remembered !" said the haunted man, after a pause. " Yes. So well remembered, that even now, when years have passed, and nothing is more idle or more visionary to me than the boyish love so long outlived, I think of it with sympathy, as if it were a younger brother's or a son's. Sometimes I even wonder when her heart first inclined to him, and how it had been affected towards me.—Not lightly, once, I think.—But that is nothing. Early unhappiness, a wound from a hand I loved and trusted, and a loss that nothing can replace, outlive such fancies."
" Thus," said the Phantom, " I bear within me a Sorrow and a Wrong. Thus I prey upon myself. Thus, memory is my curse; and, if I could forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would !"
" Mocker!" said the Chemist, leaping up, and making, with a wrathful hand, at the throat of his other self. "Why have I always that taunt in my ears ?"
" Forbear ! " exclaimed the Spectre in an awful voice. " Lay a hand on Me, and die !"
He stopped midway, as if its words had paralysed him, and stood looking on it. It had glided from him; it had its arm raised high in warning; and a smile passed over its unearthly features, as it reared its dark figure in triumph.
" If I could forget my sorrow and wrong, I would," the Ghost repeated. " If I could forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would ! "
" Evil spirit of myself," returned the haunted man, in a low, trembling tone, "my life is darkened by that incessant whisper."
" It is an echo," said the Phantom.
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